Ape Culture - The Beatle Personality Test

My father always tells the following joke: there are two types of people, the type of people who categorize everybody else into types and the type of people who don’t.

Paul Lukas, the Editor of the zine Beer Frame, The Journal of Inconspicuous Consumption, might possibly agree. He says, in BF, vol. no. 5, that "everyone knows there are really only two kinds of people in this world. The problem is coming up with a definitive way of sorting them out." He then goes on to differentiate very brilliantly between the Oreo type of person and the Hydrox type of person.

In my book, it is really your Beatle type that matters. Either you are a John Lennon type or a Paul McCartney type. Don’t you ever notice how almost every baby-boomer has an opinion as to who was the more pivotal Beatle? In fact, I have never met a Beatle fan who didn’t either love Lennon and despise McCartney or adore McCartney and dismiss Lennon. Great theses exist as to who was the better musician, the more talented songwriter, the most together dresser, theories that have burst out of mouths and then evaporated into the thin, hot air. It really, essentially, inevitably, comes down to your basic personality type. You are born predisposed to like one Beatle over the other. Simultaneous Beatle love has never been factually documented because it simply doesn’t exist. It’s in your genes, your DNA. And it has integrated itself into every aspect of your social life. Lennons like other Lennons. McCartneys like other McCartneys. It’s classic Beatle prejudice. And it goes beyond the scope of mere product identification or artistic judgement. And it has nothing to do with which Beatle you’d rather sleep with.

This Beatle Personality Test (TBPT) is based on the basic principles of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), only pathetically simplified. The TBPT will enable you to locate people who match your Beatle Type and to identify people who conflict with your Beatle type without those arduous hours of wasteful "getting to know yous." The TBPT will also help you understand the needs and the wants of your fellow Beatle Types, enabling a sort of harmony with your fellow Beatles…. All you need is love, love and the TBPT to fully comprehend which Beatle you really are.

You are born with a specific Beatle predisposition. JLs and PMs are built right into your DNA structure and you are virtually helpless against their powers. This is not to say you can’t fake a Beatle preference. Hell, we can all LIE; but I doubt any real significant cross-Beatle typing is actually possible. Trust me, face your inner-Beatle and you will be much happier. The sooner you can relate to your innate Beatle qualities, the more self-assured you will be.

TBPT can not be responsible for gross or reckless misuse of Beatle Typing. Please proceed with caution and a healthy sense of reality, if you’ve got one handy. As Typewatchers remind us, your Beatle strengths unchecked become a Beatle liability. Remember: The Beatles broke up!

I am sure there are complexities in each of the Lennon/McCartney personalities and within their relationship. For the purposes of this test, I am going to assume that there are not.

If these types baffle or overwhelm you, I suggest you try other celebrity duo personality types such as the Quick Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis Personality Test (DMJLPT) as follows:

While girls in my 1965 homeroom were pouring their hearts out to Paul and John, and boys were trying to emulate their vocals, I was posed with a problem. I knew George was the coolest and couldn't seem to bring my classmates to their moptop senses. Even Ringo was receiving fallout from the pity factor concerning the most popular member of the Fab Four; but, alas, George just couldn't seem to break on through.

Almost 35 years later, I still feel George isn't receiving the recognition he deserves for his role in the Mersey merchants' ride to superstardom. Allow me to straighten out the record once and for all.

First, let's look at the nature of the tunes themselves. While Paul and John swooned about "holding hands" and "being your man," it was George who already was displaying rock-star cool by penning such angst-ridden tunes as "Don't Bother Me." No happy-happy joy-joy for George. He knew the real road to coolness was displeasure with life. He took up the challenge masterfully.

Second, their performances on the Sullivan show had Paul and John happy as larks on stage with Ringo looking like he had just inhaled laughing gas. Meanwhile, there's George alone off somewhere looking pained about the fingering of chords on his guitar. Even his guitar in these performances was a big, black, foreboding Gretch Tennesseean while his mates on stage right played their Rickenbackers and Hofners, small peppy guitars that had the same effect on me as those nippy little dogs the rich and famous love.

Finally, here's the clincher for George as the coolest Cavern Clubber of them all: Look at the back cover of their first US-released album, Meet The Beatles. On it is a picture of the Fab Four in all their Beatlesque glory posing in those incredible, ahead of their 1984-Orwellian time, suits with collarless jackets.

Now move your eyes down to the infamous Beatle Boots. Notice the fall of the pants on each of their respective Fab Feet. Focus now on George's boots. The pants don't fall over the boots but seem to caress them perfectly in an arc that would make a mathematician proud: the seamless continuation of pant leg to boot with no noticeable gap.

That did it for me. One look and I knew it was all over for the other bugs. I cannot tell you the efforts I made to simulate that look with my own Beatle boots and various suits, never quite reaching that standard of perfection George demonstrated in that photo.

In conclusion, next time you hear a tune from the British invaders sandwiched between the current airwave phenomena, think about George and feel his pain in a new and more appreciative light. And if you take argument with my case, three words to you -- "Don't Bother Me."

Growing up, I wasn't educated by flash cards nor those "as seen on TV" wildlife cards, but by bubblegum cards. In the 70s, there were cards for bands, TV shows, and movies, and these cards provided the Cliff Notes for my pop culture education. My parents wouldn't let me see Saturday Night Fever because it was rated R nor let me listen to KISS because they were supposedly Satanic, but for some reason they'd buy me the trading cards. I would stare at the scenes and memorize the quotes on the back and let my imagination fill in the rest.

Sometime in my primary school years, I bought some Beatles cards at a garage sale. I pored over them with my usual obsessiveness. Ringo stood out. I thought he was cute, particularly in one black and white photo that showed him shirtless on the beach, wet mop top tousled, dazed expression, towel covering his chest. His responses to the interview questions on the back of the cards showed he had the best sense of humor. On one card, the sainted Paul even asserted that Ringo was the most talented of them all.

Plus, as a frustrated would-be drummer (forbidden because we lived in a condo and Dad said the walls were too thin), I was naturally inclined to pick the drummer as my favorite in any band.

Moving into adolescence and gaining exposure to the White Album and Sgt. Pepper, I still favored Ringo. The 80s Ringo had a marbleized grey and brown beard, a dangling earring, and the foxiest of all Beatle wives, the silent and smoldering Barbara Bach. When it comes to B-Movie goddesses, Barbara ranks right up there with Sybil Danning and Adrienne Barbeau. Everyone hated Yoko and people loved to mock pre-cancer Linda's lack of musicality and vegetarian TV dinners. Somehow, Barbara maintained dignity, even when playing Cavegirl to Ringo's Caveman.

Ringo got a lot of crap for making Caveman, and it is, without question, a terrible movie. I remember it clearly because it was one of the first movies to air on HBO in heavy rotation. I have a tendency to watch junk over and over--I am still tuning into 90210 every week--and the most dreadful schlock becomes endearing to me. Even if his mostly silent comedy didn't establish him as the Chaplin of the 80s, Ringo was still lovable, funny, and self-effacing. I'll take Caveman over Give My Regards to Broad Street any day.

I guess what I treasure most about Ringo is his lack of pretension. Ringo has never preached at us, not for free love, not for vegetarianism, not for the Dhali Lama. Ringo always has a smile and a sense of wonder. He acts like he's on a fantastic ride, like he just found the golden ticket in a Wonka bar. He knows he's lucky--lucky that Pete Best chose his girlfriend over the band and dropped out, lucky to have been 1/4 of the world's greatest band, lucky that he's remained a star without exhibiting heaps of talent. Today, he's still having fun, playing a train conductor on kiddie TV, touring with his all-star band. The Rodney Dangerfield of rock n' roll, Ringo gets no respect, but he doesn't seem to mind. Neither do I.